


What More Can I Say?

by kaijuvenom after dark (kaijuvenom)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Episode: s05e14 In Purgatory's Shadow, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Elim Garak, but whenever i write garak i write him as trans whether its directly addressed or not so, i just want everyone to know he's trans, its never mentioned directly in the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26012197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom%20after%20dark
Summary: Julian goes to Garak after they return to DS9 from Internment Camp 371. Garak tries to push him away, afraid of how close they've become, and Julian responds by telling Garak some of his secrets, things he's never told another soul.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 6
Kudos: 91





	What More Can I Say?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HqZppq7FYtM)  
> 

Garak had never wanted to push Julian away. If he’d wanted to get rid of him, to keep him at arm’s length, he wouldn't have told his father they were alone in that room, he wouldn’t have sat down at his table years ago, wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of getting to know him and letting Julian know him. Of course he had, because, despite everything that had been drilled into him all his life, despite everything he insisted to the contrary, Elim Garak was still an incurable, insufferable optimist. 

Now it was different. Julian knew things about him only one other person in the world had ever known, and he was now the _only_ one who knew those things. Granted, he didn’t know _why_ Garak was claustrophobic, he didn’t know _why_ Garak’s own father told him on his deathbed, in no uncertain terms, that he should’ve killed Garak’s mother before he’d been born. That didn’t matter so much as the fact that he simply _knew_ those things. 

It put Julian in danger. Not only that, but it put Garak in danger. He’d never known anyone this closely, it was uncharted territory and Garak didn’t do well in uncharted territory. 

So that was the reason, as he tried to convince himself, that he yelled at Julian to leave his quarters when he’d asked if he was doing alright since they’d gotten back. 

Julian, however, was adamantly not leaving. Not even when Garak turned away and refused to look at him. He simply stood there, perhaps thinking about what to say, how to heal their friendship, maybe wondering if leaving _was_ the best option, or perhaps coming up with some sort of brilliantly orchestrated plan to get Garak to speak to him again.

Garak counted the seconds of silence, for no reason other than to give his mind something to think about other than Julian. And speaking of that, he should probably stop referring to him as _Julian_ , it was too personal, too close. Garak couldn't possibly be expected to push someone away when his mind refused to let go of their level of friendship. He was pushed out of his thoughts by Bashir’s voice, and it made him jump, but he still didn’t turn around.

“I tried to kill myself when I was fifteen,” Julian said, and his voice was hollow, empty, like all the fight had gone out of it. Garak supposed that was understandable, he wasn’t being the most welcoming companion. 

But that thought process was abandoned in favor of focusing on the actual content of Julian’s— _Bashir’s_ —words instead of solely the tone with which he’d said them. 

Garak really wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to that statement, his first thought was that it was some foolish attempt at the beginning of a joke made to make him feel better. But a split second later Garak knew he was telling the truth. The question of _why_ still remained. Why is Julian Bashir standing in his quarters, adamantly refusing to leave even after Garak had rather rudely yelled at him to get out, and telling him about something that had happened when he was fifteen?

Garak continued to stare at the wall, refusing to turn and face Julian again. That was far too much intimacy than he wanted right now. 

Julian’s voice continued once again, and it still had that quiet, broken little tilt to it, and it made Garak’s heart want to shatter into pieces.

“And then again, two more times, within three years of each other, while I was still living with my parents.”

Garak finally found his voice when Julian—god _damnit_ , _Bashir_ , why was Garak finding it impossible not to think of him in such a personal way—stopped talking again. “Doctor, why-” His words were cut off, even as he turned his head to glance behind him, to look at the unusually fragile man. 

“I was supposed to be perfect,” Julian said in one breath, and as Garak watched his face, Julian’s eyes dropped to the bookshelf he’d been resting his hands on since walking in. He played with an unfinished pair of gloves Garak had left on it, running his fingers across them in a recognizable pattern, like he was feeling the textures of the material, over and over again, circling and winding and drawing and then repeating, circling and winding. Garak removed his eyes from the hands, staring at a spot on the wall behind Bashir’s head.

“Their perfect child. Every time I made a mistake, every time I couldn’t pick up on social queues, or if I got less than a perfect score, I was nothing but a disappointment.”

Perhaps this was some sort of Human ritual, one which was demonstrated between friends in order to… bond, perhaps? But why Bashir was choosing now of all times to demonstrate it was beyond Garak.

“They never touched me, hugged me, nothing parents are supposed to do, but when I was young, they did. But I barely… I hardly remember it now, it seems so long ago. Like I was a whole different person, but when I got older, they stopped. I was nothing but an achievement to them, like a work promotion or a winning lottery ticket.” He licked his lips, and Garak noticed how dry they were, how parched and terribly torn the skin was, like he’d been doing nothing but chew them for hours on end.

“But only when I was good enough. When I was perfect. And that- that wasn’t often. So one day, it got to me. I realized… how my parents really felt about me, how they saw me as nothing but either a glowing award to put on a pedestal and parade around, or a participation trophy to be buried in a box in the attic and forgotten about.” His hands found the seams of the gloves, fingers poking through the holes where the stitching remained unfinished. “I couldn’t take it anymore, the realization that my life, my achievements, my personality, _everything_ about me was a result of nothing more than my parents’ egotistical need to give themselves a _legacy_.” 

Words were once again failing Garak, and this time he didn’t even bother to open his mouth in an attempt to form any, he stood silently, watching, waiting for some explanation as to why this confession was occurring. 

“The first time I tried, I used my father’s razor blade. I didn’t think it through, I should’ve done it while they were out, or at least taken the razor blade into my own bathroom instead of staying in theirs. I didn’t even bother to lock the door. So of course, they found me, rushed me to the emergency room, kept the whole thing quiet, made sure the doctor completely cleared away all my scars, and brought me back home.” He was biting his lips, and even in the low light of his quarters, Garak could see blood bubbling from a previously closed scab on his bottom lip. “I wanted them to do something, ask me about it, talk to me, even _yell_ at me, I needed _something_ , but I got nothing. They didn’t even scream at me. They ignored it, pretended like nothing happened, went back to normal and expected me to go along with it without question,” he moved one hand off the gloves and onto the wood finish of the bookshelf, tapping his nails against it, “They thought I’d go back to normal just like that and they could forget all about it.”

The environmental controls in Garak’s quarters had never been the best, but they must’ve been malfunctioning because the room felt five degrees colder. 

“They thought _I_ would forget all about it, too.” 

“Julian.” Garak finally stepped closer, reaching out a hand for a split second before pulling it back. He looked into his eyes, trying to establish his motives, his thoughts, feelings, but it was indecipherable. Completely shut off.

“But I never did, Garak. I never forgot about it. No matter what I do, every day, that thought, that nasty little voice, it lives in the back of my head. It whispers to me when I’m shaving my face in the morning, when I’m holding a hypospray with a dose of some drug in it, or a scalpel or a phaser, or I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, on a bridge, a balcony, walking past an airlock, standing on a transporter pad and sometimes _wishing_ I could make it malfunction.” His hands hadn’t stopped moving, fingernails tapping and scratching at the bookshelf, sort of clawing at it like he was trying to make a dent. Like he wanted to break it. 

“Every day, I live with that voice, Garak. When I can’t save a patient, when I get into a fight with a friend, I miss a deadline for sending my paperwork in, and sometimes it’s for no reason at all. It’s always there, and some days it’s louder than others. Some days I get so close, and I know if I gave in now, I’d do it smart enough not to get saved.” 

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for the longest eleven seconds Elim Garak felt he’d ever experienced, before he looked back at Garak.

“So there.”

“Doctor, I’m afraid I don’t-” Garak began, tilting his head in that inquisitorial way he did.

“We’re even now. I know some of your secrets, you know some of mine. Things I’ve never told another soul.”

They were silent for a long while, Garak could practically hear the seconds ticking by. He was staring at Julian with something reminiscent of disbelief. 

“That’s what this is? Your attempt to…” Garak paused, waving his hand, “what’s that Human expression? Level the playing field?” 

Julian offered him a smile, one that didn’t quite reach past a corner of his lips. “Something like that.”

Garak’s hand finally found Julian’s, stilling its incessant tapping against wood. “I was perfectly content playing on the field we had, my dear. You really didn’t need to…” he paused, trying to come up with words he so desperately wanted to say, but coming up empty. 

“You were pulling away from me, what else was I supposed to do?” Julian asked, and Garak blinked at him. 

“I learned too much about you, and it made you afraid. It scares you how much you trust me.” 

Garak would accuse him of being egotistical if he hadn’t been so accurate in his statements. 

“You yelled at me earlier because you’re trying to push me away, to keep me at a safer distance.”

“Clearly, it isn’t working,” Garak responded, and this time Julian gave him a real smile. “I’ll have to come up with a new plan.” 

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

They stared at each other in the low light, Julian’s hand twisting under Garak’s to intertwine their fingers. Garak briefly wondered if Julian was aware of the significance of that gesture among Cardassians. He must’ve been, after all the romance novels Garak had made him read. 

There were still things about him Julian didn’t know, there would always be things he didn’t know, and there were some things Garak wished to tell him, things he was sure Julian would understand but he was simply too afraid to tell him. Despite Garak’s hatred for Federation principles, there were some he didn’t mind so much. Perhaps if he’d been raised with the values of the Federation instead of the rigid principles of Cardassian society, his life would’ve been different. Easier. Better. 

“Tell me about your father,” Julian said, and Garak, while not exactly familiar with courting rituals of Humans no matter how many Jane Austen novels Julian presses upon him, was fairly certain that was not a traditional way to seduce someone. Perhaps Julian wasn’t aware of the positioning of their hands.

“Tell me about yours first,” Garak countered, and somehow this encounter, this conversation full of pain and hidden traumas, turned right into one of their conversations over lunch. Lighter, more casual, like they weren’t discussing some of their most well-kept secrets, and only talking about the sonnets of Shakespeare versus Bajoran love poems.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! <3  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaijuvenom)  
> [tumblr](https://kaijuvenom.tumblr.com/)


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